


Alternating to Success

by DarkMrowlidash



Category: ArcheAge
Genre: F/F, Mechaphilia, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay, Squirting, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Transformers references, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Fisting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-19
Updated: 2014-11-19
Packaged: 2018-02-26 06:08:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2640947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkMrowlidash/pseuds/DarkMrowlidash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phaynel's farm wagon is more than meets the eye, but she's more concerned with introducing her to her mouth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alternating to Success

**Author's Note:**

> This is literally a story about an elf fucking a farm wagon (robot).  
> Cybertronian sparks can get lost sometimes... It's possible they could end up a long way from home.
> 
> I'd like to thank XLGames, Cheez-Its, and (a lot of) masturbation for guiding me through this work.  
> As always in my MMO fiction, this is about my genderfluid, machine-fucking, favorite character Phaynel.  
> Feel free to visit PiNKVille in Gweonid Forest (Salphira) and ask me 'what the fuck why would you ever write this'. My house is the Apothecary.
> 
> Enjoy!

 

" _Ah-ah_ -are you sure that's s-saaaaaaafe for you to ingest, master!?"

Phaynel pulled back with a shining smirk, literally--as the lubricant glistened across her face, blanketing her nose, her cheeks, and her lips. Making a show of running her tongue through it, she slurped, broadening the expression with her response, "'Course. It's seed oil. _Rice and corn_ , sweetsparks. I make this stuff myself you know. Now do you have any..." the elf took a moment's pause to get her thumb aligned just right, and then pressed it flat, right where her mouth had been.

 _"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaiiiihhhhhhh!!!"_ the much larger automaton _shrieked_ at the jolt, the primary node in her valve still not quite ready for that level of stimulation.

"More questions?" Phaynel finished at the same time, her quip completely obscured by the wailing of her sweet machine.

A sweet and... most mysterious machine indeed. Phaynel supposed that it only made sense, that a worshipper of the Golem God as devout as herself would be rewarded with an automaton of her own, but she had always figured that she'd either end up building or buying it. Not that her plain old farm wagon would one day... up and transform itself into a living, _beautiful,_ humanoid form. Without any clue as to why or how, only saying that she felt 'lost', and that she was acutely aware that there were 'more of her people somewhere'. She'd always look up at the sky, at the stars, out into the void. Had to be up there, she'd concluded, a longing--somehow--showing through the unchanging green lenses (optics, she'd insisted) that marked her eyes, set in the deep bronze of her face. In response, Phaynel was smooth and soothing, because that's what honed seduction made out of an elf. _'That's 'cause you're an angel, baby.'_

Said angel was not so lost about her _own_ body. She knew the names and functions of her components when Phaynel did not, and she seemed to.. convert them back and forth between what was needed to be a wagon, and what was needed to be.. whatever this was right now, sprawled out across the fresh grass of the Gweonid Forest, high on a plateau overlooking the village that the Principality called home, away from (most) eyes. The lessons her wagon had taught her about her humanoid body had been fascinating, and had led to all sorts of exploration and understanding.

And inevitably, to sex, because Phaynel was _Phaynel_ and her wagon, who refused to take on any sort of permanent name because so far they _all_ sounded wrong, loved her.

"M'sorry, sorry.. You're not quite warmed up for _that_ , are ya?" Phaynel half-whispered, soothing breath over the quivering valve, as she'd been taught to call it. An opening coated in rubbery mesh, metal beneath, settled between her automaton's legs. Sure, she didn't know what it was called at first, but Phaynel knew exactly what its function was, being highly familiar with these particular _'parts'_ in herself.. and others. And the 'primary node', which Phaynel had to admit, was a much better name than 'machine clit' which is what she would have called it, didn't particularly like being pushed so hard, so soon. "Let me get you revved up, then I'll make you scream the _right_ way."

The wagon only nodded, 'mmh'-ing at the promise and settling back into a more relaxed position, large wheels gouging the dirt. Phaynel got back into her own position, kneeling, hands clasping at the spread thigh plates, and finally--thrusting her face right back into the warmth of the valve.

Her tongue traveled a long stroke around the rim of the valve, teasing thick, protruding lips that had already started to swell, pulsing in response to her actions, drawing up and over the sides of her mouth, then pulling back, rhythmically painting Phaynel's cheeks... or more like her whole face, as she pushed in to swipe at deeper sensors, encased in that same mesh, coating the calipers that fluttered for more. The size difference, between elf and machine, made the task all-consuming--Phaynel's face could rest quite comfortably inside the whole of the valve, so every now and then, she'd have to come up for air. Which meant their lovemaking was always peppered with dirty banter, the forced breaks practically demanding it.

Gasping this time, Phaynel swiped an already sopping hand at the lubricants streaming off her face, allowing the next breath. "Barely started and look at you," her hand dripping, indicating over the heaving frame of her farm wagon. "How 'ya want it, hmm? Want me to lick you nice and deep, until you're rumbling all over my face? Or you want it up top, huh? Make you make that squealing sound you always do.." Phaynel's hand traced back to the primary node, before brushing over it with a set of flattened fingers--gently this time, making the automaton tense and shudder.

"I... oh _frag_..." she'd whined, but her owner just kept on going, knowing the answer.

"Or how about I alternate you... bit of both. One's going to win eventually, right?" Phaynel purred--at the same time as her wagon's engine _growled_ , and tiny organic lips went right back to work.

This time they stayed focused on the surface of the valve, as Phaynel sucked lightly on the primary node, which earned her a _'nnnnnnn'_ kind of sound and an involuntary buck of the wagon's heavy hips, temporarily bouncing the elf's knees right off the ground. But Phaynel was unfazed, even daring to release her grip on her wagon, desire to stroke and pull her thumbs over the valve's mesh too strong. Pulling out of the suction with a 'smack', Phaynel broadened her tongue and lapped furiously, but still lightly over the node, a brushing motion that sent a flurry of pleasure signals directly into the machine's internal systems.. which processed and fed right back down, telling the node how to behave--to firm up, just enough for Phaynel to feel confident to suck harder--which she did.

 _"Ooooooh!! Frag! Yes!"_ the wagon's smaller wheels, located at her ankles in this form, dug down and sent a rift of dirt flying past her owner. Which was apparently the signal for her to pull back, leaving the wagon weakly thrusting upward at nothing, trying for any ghost of stimulation she could catch.

"Ah-ah," Phaynel scolded, taking a moment to be distracted by fluids previously caught under her chin, running down her throat, between her breasts, "I said I'd be alternating you."

Phaynel had quickly learned that, much like herself, her wagon was capable of having different kinds of 'overloads'. Different kinds of stimulation provided them, but they didn't add together. If you stroked the primary node, you got a primary overload. Go for the inside and you get a secondary. One didn't lead to the other, so you could build up the overload charge _twice_ , essentially, through strategically cutting off the pleasure to one system, and switching it to the other. Eventually one would trip--not even Phaynel could stop a giant machine from coming _forever_ , but she sure as hell was going to try.

Making sure not to even nudge the primary node, Phaynel formed a hand together, slotting four of her fingers directly into the valve. The thumb stayed outside, rubbing only at the lower section of the mesh, spreading and pushing--not that it was necessary. She could stick her forearm in there if she wanted to. She didn't curl her hand so much as simply lever it, crinkling her submerged palm in half and letting the flat plane she'd made of her fingers press up against the upper wall of the valve, raking with the pads of each, slipping over the interior nodes and making the valve ripple violently, cycling hard enough to pull her hand in, her previously visible wrist suddenly swallowed up. _Deeper._ That didn't have to be spoken.

The routine repeated, Phaynel stroking until the valve cycled, pulling her in, and in, until she was indeed, forearm deep, fluids dripping off her elbow, fingers rubbing over the very deepest nodes within her sweet machine, who was outright moaning now, internals at war between pulling Phaynel's arm in and letting it slip out so she could feel it graze all the way back down. However many times into the dance, the wagon started rumbling hard, as Phaynel's fingers settled at their deepest point, and with a sudden, drawing _squelch_ \--Phaynel pulled out on her own.

Not yet at all.

_"Haaaa...hh... oh.. come onnnn..!"_

Of course Phaynel was deaf to this particular kind of plea--turning wicked, Songcraft-honed lips right back to the primary node, able to _feel_ the interior nodes quaking around inside, deprived. Her wagon's valve was an absolute mess now, swollen and drenched and so was a large portion of Phaynel herself, and none of that even mattered because the moment she sucked down her wagon _screamed,_ bucking so hard that Phaynel's face bumped violently into the node--which would have hurt had it been earlier, but at this level of arousal?

_"Oh frag--more!"_

"You want me to push that button, sweetsparks? Push it hard now?"

_"Y--aaaaaaaAAAah!"_

And _now_ the time was right. The automaton could take a lot--Phaynel had been _taught_ that, after too many nights of being too careful and not good enough, adapting to an inorganic lover. But now--she knew that she could suck with full force, pull back and squeeze that node in her fingertips, roll it up, down, to the sides, as far as it would go. Lash it with her tongue, the harder the better, the rough beating against it the perfect kind of vibration. Often times she'd finish with her whole mouth aching for all the effort. But it was worth it, every, single time. Especially right now.

The farm wagon was squealing, just as anticipated, and Phaynel was absolutely delighting in it, whole sticky face smiling save for the parts that were caught up in keeping her tongue pressed _hard_ against the node, drawing out the glorious sound.

"Frag, Phaynel.. Master! Fuck! So close! Ugh... _Oh let me overload, please!"_ the wagon let the only words she could come up with pour from her lips, alternating between begging for release in familiar organic terms, and the ones unique to.. whatever she was.

To which Phaynel simply pulled back yet again, clean and straightforward, save for the fact that she absolutely could not be called _clean,_ and replied.

**"No."**

And it continued. One system up, another down, until both Phaynel's arms were soaked, until her tongue and lips were burning with effort, until her knees were muddy from the puddle pooling on the hill, until it was nearly impossible to grip onto _anything_ , until the ground looked like a wagon had _wrecked_ here and not that a wagon was _being wrecked_ here, until the moaning was so loud that both parties clearly heard (and ignored) the loud _"Keep it the fuck down, shit!"_ that echoed up at them from the village below.

Determined to break a record, even though neither of them were counting, Phaynel was face-deep yet again in her wagon when she felt the telltale trigger--one long seizing up of the valve.. not a cycle, but more like a bow being drawn taut, the whole mesh straining. Somewhere in the background of this event her wagon was moaning in high pitch, mouth flung open, only the very back of her head still in contact with the grass. She wanted to ride it, go with it as her machine came so hard she shook the earth--so Phaynel _thought_ to grasp onto her wagon's metal thigh and bury her mouth in the mesh, which was now rippling in steady, rolling beats.

But instead, a sudden thrash of the automaton sent Phaynel flying up, soaked hands unable to gain any purchase as she looked for way to keep from being lifted. She landed quite squarely on her ass, spared any pain by the muck they'd created, and was forced to simply spectate as her beloved wagon writhed and rocked and pushed her hips up and utterly overloaded--everywhere--lubricant reserves emptying for a complete refill, fluid being squeezed outward in sloppy sloughs by the clenching valve.

Phaynel was going to say something, but just as suddenly and startlingly as she'd been thrown, her wagon's wailing changed a pitch and she was reflexively closing her eyes as the crop watering system activated and a burst of spray coated her down. She sat still after that, smiling even with her eyes still closed, droplets rolling off her chin, pompadour flattened, absolutely wet and filthy--until she remembered that she still had something to say, albeit something different now.

_"Been a while since I've gotten you to squirt."_

 

\---


End file.
